User blog:Dorkpool/Creepypasta Riffs: Rumpelstiltskin (NSFW)
Once again, I'm Riffing an NSFW story. And once again, I warn you that it might not be such a good idea to read this little Riff at school or work. Read it when you get home or something. If you don't heed my advice because you're too much of a rebel or something, and get in trouble, don't say I didn't warn you. Anyway, with that little warning out of the way, let's get to the little intro most of my Riffs have. Now, for a little while, I'd been toying with the idea of doing an NSFW Riff, except I wasn't sure what story I would Riff. Originally, I was planning to do "Cupcakes" (mostly because a friend asked), but I haven't yet for two reasons: first, I actually think it's pretty good. Extremely disturbing and fucked up, but pretty good. (Of course, I originally thought that "Squidward's Suicide" was pretty good when I Riffed it, but after seeing all the clichés it's led to, I've changed my opinion on that little turd) Second, I don't know much about "My Little Pony", nor do I really care. It's kind of why I haven't Riffed "BEN Drowned" yet: I don't know much about the franchise it's based off of, so I feel like I'm missing quite a few jokes. Now, of course, I'd love to Riff "BEN Drowned" and "Cupcakes" at some point, but that's besides the point. Getting back on track, there were also two NSFW stories I also wanted to Riff: this one, and "Normal Porn For Normal People." As you all know, I ended up Riffing "Normal Porn For Normal People" before the story I'm Riffing now, "Rumpelstilskin." This story was actually a request by the author, HumboldtLycanthrope. I've Riffed another one of his stories, "The Long List", and I actually consider him to be a very talented writer. I recommend checking out some of his work. Anyway, like I said, he actually wanted me to Riff this story, but before he asked me to Riff it, he asked me to read it. My response? "It's so dark it'd make Tim Burton piss himself." No, seriously, I said that. Why? Well, let's do some illegal activities and Riff this bitch to find out! The Rump was a notorious heroin dealer who (Narrator): …actually has a pretty funny name. roamed up and down highway 101 delivering large quantities of smack on a circuit from Seattle, Washington to Portland, Oregon, and finally down to Eureka, California. He was a small, troll of a man, with a craggy, pock marked face, balding with a comb-over of greasy, jet black hair. He had a slight hunchback, which was how he got his nickname the Rump. I thought it was because of his remarkable butt. He was an almost mythical presence in the heroin scene and was often described as looking like Danny DeVito’s version of the Penguin in Batman Returns. So there’s a drug dealer who looks the Penguin. Oh well. At least it’s not a make-up salesman who looks like the Joker. Though he was known as a smack dealer he didn’t confine himself to just heroin; he was always on the lookout for any score he could make a few bucks off of. So, when he saw Rosemary wandering by the rundown motels in Eureka, obviously strung out, what he noticed right away was (Narrator): …that she was asking people if they’d like to hear about their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. the infant in her arms. The little, fat faced girl in a dirty, pink princess dress couldn’t have been more than 18 months old. He knew a child porn and snuff film syndicate in Tijuana that would give him fifty grand for a baby like that. Babies in child porn? How does that work? How and why would one fuck a baby? Actually, I don’t want to know. Forget I asked. * Rosemary had awoken that morning in a filthy motel room, junk sick as hell with her baby screaming. (Rosemary): Honey, shut up. Mommy’s recovering from the effects of drugs. Everything hurt. Her eyes poured water and her nose ran a river of thick, green snot. The pain was unbearable. Her boyfriend Mark was gone. She didn’t know where. (Mark): I can’t believe I left my girlfriend to be in “The Room.” He had left yesterday to try and score and had never returned. (Narrator): Mark had watched too many episodes of “Beavis and Butthead.” She managed to get up, trembling and shaking, and spoon some baby food into little Jennifer’s mouth. Once the little girl had a few bites of food she stopped screaming and started toddling around the cramped room, dressed only in a sagging diaper, waving her arms and happily babbling nonsense. “Na na. Naw nan a na.” Hey hey hey, goodbye! Rosemary flicked on the television, found a child’s program and hoped it would occupy the little girl for a few moments while she tried to decide what to do. A children’s cartoon in a Creepypasta story. When these two things are together, it never ends well. She lay down on the bed and drew her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms around them she rocked slowly back and forth. She was flat broke and needed to score. Badly needed to score. Where was Mark? If Mark was here he could watch Jennifer while Rosemary went out and tried to turn a trick or two and get them some dope. There weren’t that many johns about this early in the day, but she might find something. She often found construction workers looking for a quick blowjob on their lunch breaks. Emphasis on the “quick.” She had just started whoring herself out three months ago and already she was used to it. When she tried to piece together how it all happened nothing made any sense whatsoever. One minute they had been free spirited hippies, the next she had been sucking cock in a dark alley to fix that hole in her arm. This is why I don’t trust hippies! She had met Mark three years ago when they both attended Lane Community College in Eugene, Oregon. They both had loved the band Phish and had decided to drop out of school and travel the country with the band, making their way selling grilled cheese sandwiches they cooked up on a portable cook stove. When she had gotten pregnant it hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal. There were lots of people with kids on tour. They were gypsies after all; the whole tour community considered themselves a large family. That’s what they called themselves: family. Phish family. Really? Not Phish Phamily. You missed on out alliteration, guys. The birth had gone smooth as pie. They made a stopover in Arcata, signed up for Medi-Cal, and birthed little Jennifer in less than 5 hours. Then they were right back on tour. They had loved smoking pot and dropping acid while listening to their favorite band play live. It made the music that much more alive and vibrant. (Narrator): It also made their kid nonexistent to them. But somewhere along the line they had tried heroin. And now she was in this dirty, roach infested hotel room, strung out and whoring her body for dope. She clenched her eyes shut as another spasm of cramps shook her, a cool sheen of sweat lacquering her body. The pain was so intense; she couldn’t take it. She had to score. Somehow. With a moan she pulled herself up and got out of bed. “Come on, Jennifer, we gotta go.” “Ma ma, ma ma, na nan a na, ma ma,” Translation: Bitch, I will stay where I am. I do as I please, you disappointing whore of a mother. I’m a strong independent baby who don’t need no mom! Jennifer babbled as she toddled happily toward her mother with outstretched arms and a heart breaking smile on her round little face. Rosemary wept as she scooped up the little girl, changed her diaper, and pulled a pink princess dress over her head. Her mother had sent her this dress, with a note explaining that she would no longer send her any money. (Mother): Here’s a pink dress. Stop asking me for money, you disappointment. She wandered out into the bright sunshine of the day, staggering and barely able to walk she was so sick. In an English class back when she was still in school she had studied the Beat poets and a quote came to her, from Allen Ginsburg’s Howl, “roaming the junk sick dawn looking for an angry fix.” In that long a ago time of her past she had loved that poem and thought it a romantic image. It no longer held that allure to her anymore. Nothing held much allure to her at all anymore, but she mumbled the fragments of the poem she remembered none the less. “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical, naked….” Staggering down the street with her baby in her arms, teetering and leaning on alley walls to stop herself from falling, mumbling fragmented lines of poetry, this is how the Rump found her. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he had asked, saddling up beside her. “You don’t look so good.” “Yeah, I got the flu,” she mumbled, rocking the baby who was starting to fuss in her arms. “Can you spare a few bucks, mister? I gotta get my baby some diapers.” “Yeah, I got a few bucks for you.” He handed her a fistful of crumpled bills. Her face broke in gratitude. “Oh, thank you, thank you, mister. You are a life saver.” She quickly started to wander off, suddenly energized by the idea of being able to score. “Miss,” the Rump mumbled, reaching out and giving her sleeve a tug with his dirty fingers, “you look sick. I have something that might help you.” “What’s that?” He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “China white.” What in the hell is that? Is that some street name for a drug? Or is it china that’s painted white? “Oh, Jesus, mister. I am so sick. Please. You need a date? I’ll suck your cock. Whatever you want.” (Rump): Can you smack my ass and call me Dorothy? “Well, let’s go someplace and get to know each other better. I know a place we can go.” The rump took her by the hand and led her through the busy streets of Eureka to the Samoa Bridge. As they started down a refuse strewn path she stumbled, clutching her baby in her arms. “Careful, sweetheart,” the Rump exclaimed, reaching out a hand to steady her. “Don’t wanna drop the baby.” She nodded and sniffled. The path curved under the bridge to a slab of dirty concrete. Trash was strewn everywhere: broken bottles, abandoned garments, used rubbers. The walls were covered in graffiti and the air was thick with the fishy scent of the Humboldt Bay. I bet there’s always one person who goes around there and says, “Something smells fishy.” I bet that same person immediately gets beaten for making that joke. He let her suck his cock. Why not? She seemed eager to do it. To earn her dope. She had quickly dropped to her knees and grappled with his pants, pulling him into her mouth, sniffling and trembling, kneeling in the broken glass and grime while he arched his back and came in her mouth, gripping the back of her head by her hair and pushing himself down her throat till she gagged. Well, reading about the Penguin getting a blowy wasn’t an experience I ever thought I’d go through, and I kind of wish I hadn’t. Ew. Tiny Jennifer watched, sitting amongst the trash in the pink princess dress her grandmother had sent her, staring at them with a strange uncomprehending look on her round, baby face, a small line of drool dripping off her chin. When Rosemary was finished, pulling herself away from him with a wet gasp, he had pulled up his pants and laughed. “You’re good at that,” he said, winking at the little baby who still stared up at them with that strange look. (Rosemary): Really? (Rump): I think so. You’re the only girl who hasn’t been put off by my appearance enough to blow me. (Rosemary): What can I say? Danny DeVito is a turn on for me. Rosemary had simply nodded, wiping a thin line of come off her chin. “Now for dessert,” the Rump said, pulling out his works. Please, no more sex. Have mercy! He loaded up the blackened spoon with a few grains of dope he sprinkled out from a glassine bag, added a bit of water and a clump of cotton from a cigarette filter. Oh, thank the Preservers. For once, I’m happy that someone is doing drugs. '' He gave it a little heat and a stir and pulled the plunger of the syringe to pull the dark liquid up into the needle. He handed her the syringe. It was good dope. The best. ''IT’S THE BEST – AROUND! AND NOTHING’S GONNA EVER BRING IT DOWN! He knew she would be out like a light and he doubted she would ever come back. * Rosemary awoke under the bridge. (Rosemary): Ugh. That’s what I get for blowing another Danny DeVito lookalike. I never learn. She looked groggily around. It was dark now. The syringe still dangled from her arm. She plucked it out, leaned over and wretched, puking up black bile. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was or what had happened to her. Then it came back to her. The small, hunched over little man. The taste of his come was still salty and rich in her mouth. Where was he? Then she remembered Jennifer. Her baby. She had had her baby with her. Where was her Jennifer? Maybe she’s with Waldo. Adrenalin coursed through her and she leapt up, squinting in the dark and shadows, searching for her baby. She screamed, horrified, “Jennifer?! Jennifer??” She franticly searched around the trash and rubble, still off kilter and dazed from her fix. Her baby, her infant, her tiny little Jennifer was gone. She shrieked in terror and howling, ran out from under the bridge, clawing her way up the dirt path to the street above. “My baby, my baby,” she screamed. A hooker she knew ran up to her. “Honey, what’s wrong? What happened?” “My baby is gone! A man took my baby! Help me. Please help me.” “Okay, hon, okay. Who was he? What’s his name?” “I don’t know,” Rosemary blubbered, weeping hysterically. “I don’t know his name.” (Rosemary): All I know is that he looked like Danny DeVito. (Hooker): Again? * After inserting the brand new car seat into his car, the Rump pushed the screaming infant into it. He mixed some Benadryl into the bottle of formula and shoved the nipple into the baby’s mouth. She sucked on it greedily. That should knock her out, he thought. (Rump): If that doesn’t work, I always have chloroform. '' It was a long drive to Tijuana and he didn’t want the brat screaming the whole way down. He idly wondered if the kid’s mother was alive or not. In the end it didn’t make any difference to him. As long as she didn’t know his name. ''(Narrator): No one must ever know the Rump’s true name is Liu. That’d be embarrassing. Seriously, what the hell kind of name is Liu? END RIFF This is a good story, but it's very dark and rather graphic. While the description of the Rump getting oral satisfaction probably isn't as bad as anything from "Fifty Shades Of Grey" or something, it's still kind of gross. I'm sorry, I don't want the mental image of the Danny DeVito Penguin getting a blowy. Also, I'm pretty sure that it wasn't completely necessary. Just say that they did the do, and the Rosemary got drugged. Boom. But really, other than that, I can't complain. While it's a very dark story, it's a well done kind of dark. It's a well written story that I do like. Just don't ask me to read it while I eat, ok? So, what do you guys think? Was the story good? Was the Riff good? Do you wish I'd give a blowjob to a Danny DeVito lookalike? Leave your thoughts in the comments below. Category:Blog posts